Yes, the youngest slave says, stepping forward, shielding the woman Medea has slapped. A daughter defending her mother, Medea sees now. Your oldest gave cups to Kreon and Glauce, and the little one, Promachus, drank from his. Little face disappearing in honey and cinnamon, pouring all down the front of him. Everyone laughed. There’s nothing better he could have done to make all love him.

And then they drank?

Yes, they drank the nectar. The king said it had something strange he’d never tasted before. The princess said it tasted like a flower, like a scent, a drink you could smell more than taste, and she kept drinking more, trying to find that scent and name it. And then she changed into the dress and diadem and looked so beautiful, so foreign, and all said so.

Was Jason delighted? Did he find her beautiful?

No answer to that. Only fear as the slaves watch Medea.

Bring my sons back now, Medea says. Hurry.

But we thought you wanted them to stay with the princess.

Medea strikes the younger slave now. Would any mother send her children away? And to her husband’s new fuck? How stupid can you be? Bring them back now, or I slit your mother’s throat with this knife.

But what can I tell the princess?

Tell her I want to say good-bye to my children. Then I’ll be gone. All can forget me.

14

14

Too long waiting. Her sons not returned. Goatskin of water slung over her shoulder, and food for the journey to Athens, but time is what they need most. They must be outside the city before the poison begins to work.

Glauce spinning somewhere in her new dress, and Medea’s children chasing the hem, laughing and running round and round in idiotic delight. She can see their open mouths, and Promachus tucking his neck, trying to be cute. Her three men all fighting for the love of young Glauce. Jason believing he will have all: kingdom, flesh, more sons.